


TF2 CYOA

by Oddport



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Intellectual Heavy, M/M, Red Oktoberfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddport/pseuds/Oddport
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medic's approaching birthday has him in a melancholy mood. A late night visit from Heavy starts him thinking about feelings he'd pushed aside for too long. Includes liberal usage of Walt Whitman poetry. </p>
<p>My first Tumblr Choose Your Own Adventure (COTYA), as voted on by my readers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Medic sat at his desk with piles of paperwork stacked around him, the result of too many days on the field with not enough spend in the office. Injury reports that no one cared about, supply requests for maintaining his surgery equipment and death records that would be one of several metrics used to determine the yearly bonuses. All of these towered around him, but right now none of them held any of his attention. 

Currently all of his attention was focused on the date. The desk calendar that had notes scribbled with one reminder or another had one day conspicuously clear of any writing. 

Tomorrow. 

He hadn’t realized that the date was approaching so quickly.

His birthday.

Such an innocuous thing, a birthday, but every year he found himself dreading the date more and more. For some people it was a day to celebrate, revel, spend time with family or simply get drunk and pass out in the company of friends. For Medic, it was simply another reminder of the continual march of time that he had yet to fully defy.

The Medi-gun was a wonder. Respawn was a marvel. But both were temporary solutions to the eternal problem of life. Mainly its end. 

Giving up on his work, Medic pushed away from his desk and slowly paced the infirmary. As he walked around the room came to a stop at a mirror stood against the wall. 

Stepping closer to the mirror, he looked closely at the man staring back at him. There was a little softness around the middle and lines worn into a face that had seen more than it had cared to in its lifetime. A touch of grey at his temples stood in stark contrast to the jet black hair that was still thick on his head. Small favors, he supposed. At least it was all there.

All in all, the reflection would be the envy of most men in his position. But all Medic could see was the delay of the inevitable. The minute that he retired from RED he would start to feel the rigors of age that had been held back by the rejuvenating technology that he had created.

And where would he be?

An old man, alone with the glories of the past.

There was no family waiting for him. His parents were long since dead and he’d had no siblings. A wife had always been out of the question, but he had always had the excuse of his work when he was young. Now he had the camaraderie of his teammates, but amongst mercenaries that only lasted as long as the next contract. After their five years here were up, there were no guarantee that any of them would renew.

Although he could always hope.

Medic shook his head and walked over to the window, opening it to the cool night air and taking a breath before returning to his desk.

Normally he wouldn’t have bothered, but tonight had him in a mood and something drew him to his file drawer where he pulled out THAT folder. The copy he had made that would never be returned to RED. It contained every detail of the man that had captured his attention from the moment he’d walked onto the base. Height, weight, and a battery of biometric readings that held meaning only for him. X-rays and photographs of identifying markings that he had run his fingers across time and time again until he was convinced he could have performed surgery on that body blindfolded. It was an oddly intimate way to know another person made all the more sweet by its exclusiveness.

Shoving aside the stack of paperwork for one more night, he spread the contents of the folder across the desk. His eyes surveying every inch of the man contained within, both inside and out on paper. As the team physician, he’d performed surgery on everyone to install the ÜberCharge implants, but oh how he wished for a few hours to truly get to know this body. 

Completely lost in his thoughts, Medic was startled by the sound of a knock at his door. Grumbling as he got up from his chair, he made his way over to the door and jerked it open.

“Ja?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ja?”

Medic opened the door to see Heavy standing outside. Although unexpected, it was not unheard of for the Russian to visit the infirmary after working hours. He took a step back, letting Heavy step inside. 

“Good evening, Doktor.” 

In the large man’s hands was a familiar wooden box that Medic recognized immediately. A chess set that Medic kept on hand for the infrequent downtimes when Heavy or Engineer fancied a match. Its latest use was Heavy’s attempt to teach the game to Scout after several weeks of incessant whining after Spy made a comment about the younger man’s patience and attention span.

“And how did the lessons go?”

Heavy just shook his head as he returned the box to its place on Medic’s shelf. “You are missing rook. Will replace at next furlough.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Is best not. But Scout will not have good time in morning.”

“Ah.” Medic closed the door behind him, sparing a moment of silent remembrance for the poor piece that would visiting the base’s sewers in a few hours, if he didn’t have Scout in here sooner. 

After setting down the chess set, Heavy wandered over to the bookshelf that filled almost an entire wall of Medic’s office. Most of the heavier tomes were medical journals, souvenirs of a life of licenced medical practice, but there was a selection of other titles as well. There were philosophic musings from Aristotle to Nietzsche, and political treatises and writings that Medic had carted around since university.

They made him feel smart.

What Heavy was looking at was Medic’s expansive selection of fiction that ranged from Shakespeare to Dashiell Hammett. Some had covers that were well worn with spines that had been broken many times over. Others still had crisp pages that clung together. Unlike the medical journals, there was little rhyme or reason to the book’s organization. Edgar Allan Poe sat next to Edgar Rice Burroughs, and dime store novels were stacked against finely bound editions

It was the bookshelf that had first brought Heavy here after hours, and also what gave Medic his first glimpse of the man outside of the purely physical brute he had thought the man to be. A simple request for some bedtime reading, and Heavy had walked out with Medic’s first edition of Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship.

He supposed that was the moment he had truly been lost. There had always been an appreciation of Heavy’s pure physicality. The knowledge that the man possessed a mind that was of equal measure had left Medic completely undone. 

Medic walked back over to his desk, watching Heavy as he continued to peruse the titles. Every so often one of those large hands would come up, and a single finger would run across gold embossed lettering and almost caress the worn leather bindings. Every book on a shelf was granted the same attention as Heavy’s hands slowly made their way down the shelf and Medic wondered if books were the only thing Heavy’s hands treated with such reverence.

It was a sweet sort of agony, this friendship that he found himself in with the one man who sparked something deep within him. Every moment in war was with the knowledge that Heavy would always protect him with the same ferocity that a mother bear would show for her cubs. Every moment in peace was with the gentle giant who would discuss the finer points of Tolstoy as he allowed Medic to quite literally hold his heart in his hands. The longer it went on, Medic simultaneously found himself craving more and dying a little inside knowing that he could never ask for it.

As Heavy leaned towards the rows of books, Medic shook his head and finally forced himself to speak. “Does anything strike your fancy this evening?”

Straightening up, Heavy sighed. “Nyet. Would love to, but I will also need to replace my glasses at next furlough as well.”

Medic arched an eyebrow. “And just what type of chess were you two playing?”

“Demoman and Soldier felt bombs would make for a more interesting game.” A chuckle escaped Heavy. “So, there will be no reading until I can get glasses fixed.”

“You may borrow mine for the evening if you wish. Our reading prescriptions are similar, and I am done here for the evening.” Medic offered.

Heavy’s hand paused over an edition Leaves of Grass. “You will not need them?”

Medic smiled. Heavy’s love of reading was as endearing as it was attractive. “Nein. Keep them until you can have yours repaired. I have another pair in my nightstand and I use bifocals when we are out.” He pulled the glasses from his face and folded them as he picked up the case that was set out on the desk. “My vision is not so poor that I cannot make it back to my room without them.”

Pulling the book from the shelf, Heavy turned to face Medic and paused.


	3. Chapter 3

Heavy had honestly done his best with Scout. The idea of having another man on base with whom he could enjoy a game of chess had been appealing, and the young mercenary had seemed sincere in his desire to learn. 

For the first twenty minutes or so, anyway. Once Soldier and Demo had entered the room, both Scout and the chess lesson were lost causes. 

He would have to find a way to replace that rook.

Medic had thankfully taken the return of his set less one piece in stride and, as Heavy returned the box to its proper place, he wandered over to the doctor’s library. Even with the unfortunate fate that his reading glasses had suffered during the initial bombardment of the recreation room, he couldn’t help himself from running his hands over the volumes stacked on the shelves. 

Back in Russia, Heavy had only the briefest of encounters with such a collection while he was in university. After the Communists had taken his family, he had to make do with whatever he could find in the homes of those who were compassionate enough to shelter them. Eventually he was able to collect a few of his own, but now his life as a mercenary forced him to carry as little with him as possible. Sasha was his only companion, his books far away back in Siberia. 

The library was what had initially lead Heavy to volunteer for the numerous experiments that Medic would come up with. A routine check-up had run long, and Heavy found himself bored while he waited for some lab results to be come back. He had heard the siren’s song of the overflowing shelves from the moment he’d entered the room, but had been advised by Spy to make his visit with the doctor as quick as possible. But the temptation had proved too much as Medic had become engrossed with whatever he was looking at in that strange microscope of his. Heavy had approached quietly, and steadily grew more amazed with the pure breadth of the subject matter available. Many of the titles were in German, which was completely unintelligible to him, but a good number were in English, and there were even a smattering in Russian. First editions, judging by their looks, and his fingers had itched as he held his hands behind his back like a child in a candy store under the watchful eye of their mother.

Some amount of time had passed; although, he couldn’t say how long. It wasn’t until he heard a polite cough behind him that he had turned and found Medic standing a few feet behind him. There had been a smile on his face, but one lacking the manic energy that he had become used to seeing. A kinship of sorts, someone with whom he could discuss something other than the vulgarities of mercenary work.

And all the doctor asked in return was to occasionally indulge in a little elective surgery. For science, of course.

Medic had been more than generous with the books after that. He’d laughed and claimed bibliomania the reason he’d had to initially go into medicine. But every time Heavy had pulled one of the volumes from the shelf, no matter if it was one of the beautifully bound leather tomes or a worn paperback, the doctor would smile fondly and expound upon its virtues at only the slightest prompting. He seemed to love them as much as the doves that fluttered around the infirmary.

And that was simply the first day of what soon became a comfortable routine. Heavy would lose himself as he looked from title to title, trying to decide what to read next until Medic brought him back to reality and he would take whatever book he happened to have his hand on, provided it was in English or Russian. 

“Does anything strike your fancy this evening?” 

Heavy’s ears pricked up at the sound of the doctor’s voice. There was an undercurrent of something there tonight. Not irritation or frustration, even though it would not have been unexpected given the mounds of paperwork on the desk nearby. But there was something.

“Nyet. Would love to, but I will also need to replace my glasses at next furlough as well.”

“And just what type of chess were you two playing?” 

“Demoman and Soldier felt bombs would make for a more interesting game.” A chuckle escaped Heavy, as he imagined the look on the doctor’s face. “So, there will be no reading until I can get glasses fixed.”

“You may borrow mine for the evening if you wish. Our reading prescriptions are similar, and I am done here for the evening.”

Heavy’s hand paused over a book of some American poetry. He could just make out the name Walt Whitman, one he recognized as having inspired some… intriguing conversations amongst his fellow students back in university as they huddled together, sneaking furtive glances to ensure that no one would overhear them. It would be good to revisit some memories that would be found within those lines.

“You will not need them?”

“Nein. Keep them until you can have yours repaired. I have another pair in my nightstand and I use bifocals when we are out. My vision is not so poor that I cannot make it back to my room without them.”

Pulling the book from the shelf, Heavy turned to face Medic and paused. 

He had never seen the man without his glasses before. And there was no reason why it should make any difference one way or another if he wore them or not. But he was suddenly aware of a distinct warmth spreading in his cheeks.

Medic was the oldest member of the team. That was no secret, and Heavy had never really thought too much of it as the difference between the two of them was not so great. But with his white coat, tailored vest and spectacles, Medic was almost a stereotypical authority figure. Doctor, professor or, to the younger members of the team, a father figure. 

Heavy had never really considered the idea of him being, well, attractive. However, there Medic stood in front of him with a smile on his face and his hair slightly disheveled as he ran his hand through it, rubbing the points over his ears where the glasses had sat just a moment before. Despite the hint of silver at his temples, without the glasses Heavy could see the doctor as he must have been when he was a student himself.

He was glad that the squinting of Medic’s eyes meant that the doctor wouldn’t see the blush that had to be showing all too well on his pale Siberian skin. Heavy took the offered glasses, aware of the long fingers that were wrapped around them, and that had touched him in ways that were more intimate than any lover that he had ever taken.

“Thank you, Doktor.” His mouth suddenly felt dry.

“What is the selection for the night?”

Heavy held the book at arm’s length to focus on the embossed title. “Leaves of Grass.”

“Leaves of Grass?” Medic repeated the title slowly. “Ah, a good selection.”

“Indeed?” Heavy noticed the lack of the doctor’s normal enthusiastic exposition on the title. “Is American poet, da? I am not so familiar with them.”

Heavy wondered if the doctor knew that there was a flush spreading onto his own face as he gestured with one hand, trying to find the words to summarize what Heavy knew to be contained within the poems written on those pages.

“It has frequently been banned for being, uh, suggestive.”

“Suggestive?”

The edge of Heavy’s mouth ticked up as he saw the blush spread farther across the doctor’s face. Every book in the doctor’s library had been chosen to be there. There was nothing that was there by chance. And this was a man who would cackle over a man’s corpse and make jokes as blue as any mercenary that Heavy had ever known. For him to be stammering over his words like this... 

He wondered...

“I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,   
And you must not be abased to the other. 

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,   
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,   
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valvèd voice.”

It had been years since he’d last lay eyes on the words on paper, but they were burned into his memory long ago. The last time he’d spoken them it had been to a man who was the son of a high ranking party member who found his own personal rebellion in the writings of an American poet and the body of a poor student. Saying them now to Medic felt strange and foolishly youthful.

But the look on the doctor’s face prompted him to continue. 

“I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,   
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,   
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,   
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.”

As he had been speaking, Heavy had slowly moved forward with a lightness surprising for his large size. He was almost chest to chest with Medic, with the doctor tilting his head back ever so slightly to keep his eyes locked with Heavy’s. 

“Song of Myself.”

“Da.” Heavy could feel the warmth of the doctor’s body next to his. He looked down at his friend, the one man who he could talk to, the one man who would stand by him regardless of the danger, the one man who could not possibly mistake the meaning layered underneath the words he had just spoken. “I do not think I am wrong.”

A smile started to creep onto Medic’s face. “It is only a shame that I cannot see you properly right now.”

Heavy smiled as one large finger carefully flipped the temples out at their hinges to slip the glasses back to their familiar place on the bridge of Medic’s nose. “Is better?”

“You will not need them?”

A large hand slid down Medic’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Nyet. Reading can wait.”


	4. Chapter 4

The door to the bedroom had barely closed behind them before Heavy pinned Medic to the back of it, capturing his mouth in a kiss as he let his hands feel their way down the trim lines of the doctor’s body. Medic moaned into his mouth, allowing Heavy’s tongue to slip past his lips to taste the hints of good German beer and coffee that he would forever come to associate with the doctor.

Gently grabbing Medic’s wrists, he held them pressed against the door with one large hand. Medic’s questioning look lasted only a minute before Heavy’s other hand slipped down to play at his belt, quickly undoing the buckle and slipping from its loops.

“Am I being unwrapped?” Medic’s light words had a nervous edge that did not escape Heavy’s notice. 

“Da.” Heavy leaned forward to whisper into Medic’s ear, and being rewarded with a shiver as his hand busied itself with opening the doctor’s fly. As his fingers slipped past to brush against cotton underneath, he felt Medic’s dick already halfway hard. He slid his palm into Medic’s pants, cupping him through his underwear as he pressed another rough kiss against the doctor’s lips. “What do you want, Doktor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words were breathless but came with no hesitation. Heavy felt a wave of heat run through is own body, and he had to hold back from simply tearing away the rest of the man’s clothing.

Once he had Medic completely stripped of the trappings of his profession, he steered the doctor back onto the bed and stood back to completely take in the sight of him. 

Devoid of clothing, Medic’s body was all the more impressive for a man his age. The doctor’s skin was pale, making the fevered blush that was creeping across his body stand out wonderfully. His face, tanned by the New Mexico sun, could only be described as classical. A strong jaw, perfectly shaped nose; it was a visage that would have looked beautiful carved into marble. He had surprisingly broad shoulders that tapered down into a trim waist with a trace of softness around the middle; but the muscles underneath still spoke to strength and energy of a man in his prime. Perhaps it was the result of his daily forays into the field, perhaps it was the constant exposure to the Medi-Gun. Either way, the sight stirred something deep within Heavy. 

As he stood there, simply looking at Medic, the doctor squirmed a little under his gaze.

“I would not think you would be shy.” Heavy smiled as quickly stripped himself of his own clothes.

The flush deepened across Medic’s face. “It has been a while, is all.”

Heavy’s grin widened as he crawled on the bed. Somehow the knowledge that for so long no other man had been able to distract his doctor from his work made things all the sweeter. Reaching over to the nightstand, Heavy pulled out a small tube, one normally only pulled out when he was packing for a furlough.

He looked forward to finally having to buy another.

Medic’s eyes followed his hands as Heavy squeezed the lube onto his fingers, slicking them up and warming them as best he could with his breath before leaning down over the man below him. Medic spread his legs eagerly, canting his hips to give better access. The doctor’s body trembled as one oversized finger pressed at his entrance, slipping through to stretch him wider than he’d been in years. 

Heavy watched as Medic clawed at the sheets under him, becoming completely undone by just this little bit of attention. His cock was fully erect, blushing a deep shade of purple as it bobbed gently over his abdomen. Idly, he wondered if it would taste as good as the doctor’s kisses had, and mentally filed that idea away for another day.

Pulling out his finger, Heavy waited only a moment before sliding back in with another. “Tak krasiv.” He murmured as he watched Medic’s head roll back on the pillow with a moan. The ring of muscle was tight and hot around his finger, causing his own cock to twitch at the thought of being inside that glorious heat.

One of Medic’s hands released its death grip on the sheets to run through his hair, disheveling the last visage of the Doctor and leaving only the man. Heavy’s own erection throbbed at the sight of the flushed body, free of any pretense of respectability as Medic writhed beneath him.

“Bitte…” 

A whispered plea reached his ear, the word foreign, but the meaning clear in its desperation. He pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets before repositioning himself over the doctor. Massive hands gripped the doctor’s hips to line up his tip with Medic’s hole. Heavy eased in slowly, waiting for Medic’s body to relax against the intrusion before sheathing himself fully. 

The heat was delicious, the tightness almost overwhelming. After so long only finding pleasure within the walls of brothels and dim hotel rooms, he had almost forgotten how good this could feel. Shaky legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in even deeper as Medic let out a shaky breath. Waiting only a moment more, he started to move. Long, languid strokes at first that quickened as Medic adjusted to his girth.

Medic’s hands wrapped themselves around the bars of the headboard as his breathing came in gasps. Whimpered words in a language Heavy could not understand spilled from his lips as the Russian’s pace started to quicken. His cock hung heavy, leaking slowly from its tip. As the doctor’s words had completely escaped him, he moaned and whimpered as Heavy’s thrusts shook him to the very core. With a strangled cry, his release painted itself across his stomach, clenching down on the dick still pumping away inside him.

Heavy’s vision dimmed as he felt that exquisite heat that threatened to consume him entirely and pushing him even closer to the edge. His balls drew tight under him as he snapped his hips and dug his fingers into the man below him. A moan was wrenched from his lips as his own climax hit, waves of pleasure running through him as he spent himself into Medic with each thrust. 

They lay there quietly, nose to nose, their breathing the only sound in the room. Pulling out, Heavy rested an arm on either side of the doctor’s head as Medic’s legs slowly slipped back to the mattress. Closing his eyes for a moment, Heavy centered himself before opening them to meet Medic’s own staring back at him. Long fingers wrapped around his head, and Heavy found himself pulled down into another kiss. This one soft and lingering. 

A lover’s kiss. 

One that held the promise of things to come.

As they pulled apart, Heavy reached toward the floor to grab his shirt. Balling it up, he wiped away the mess from Medic’s stomach before tossing it to the side.

“Mmm. Midnight. Not a bad start for a new year.” Medic’s voice, tinged with sleep finally broke the silence.

Heavy turned his head to see Medic looking at the clock on the nightstand. “New year?” 

“Ja. My birthday is today, so a new year.” Medic rolled back over, waiting until Heavy lay back down before settling himself next to the Russian and draping an arm over his broad chest. “And I cannot think of a better way to start it.”


End file.
